


Supersize Me, Sammy

by awabubbles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Car Sex, Dildos, First Time, Humor, Large Cock, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Penis Size, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Talk, Sex Toys, Sex Toys Under Clothing, Size Queen Sam, Wincest - Freeform, belly bulge, fleshlight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 16:45:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4187313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awabubbles/pseuds/awabubbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean finds a huge dildo in Sam's bag and it's all down hill from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a dumb, dumb fic for dumb, dumb fun.

You step on each other’s toes when you live this close: in the same motel room, in the same car, in the same greasy spoon rubbing the crust out of your eyes together and poking at the runny yolk of an egg sunny-side up thinking it’s funny because the sun isn’t even fucking up. You get used to bumping shoulders and brushing legs. You get used to putting on the other’s underwear, half out of your mind with no sleep, before you realize it’s too big or too small or it’s not quite the right color. You throw it in your brother’s direction. He rolls his eyes but you’ve both done the same thing ten times before. There’s nothing you haven’t seen of each other: full frontal, bare-assed. Not that you look for it, it’s just there. No boundaries except for “don’t come in when there’s a sock on the handle” and “no bean burritos when it’s winter” cause it’s a long drive and you can’t roll down the windows when someone lets one rip 'cause you’ll both freeze to death.

But then again that line’s been crossed once or twice by the both of you too.

So that’s why it surprises Dean when Sam throws a fit about his bag one night. They’re in a rush. Got an urgent call from a friend so they have to haul ass pronto. Sam throws their take-out from the night before into some trash bags (cause he’s a little priss that insists on doing the maid’s job for her) while Dean grabs their shit and throws it in the car. Dean checks his phone one last time; if he speeds they can get there by sundown. But then Sam comes into the room 5 minutes later wiping Lo Mein grease on his beat up jeans and there’s a brief moment of panic. 

“Where’s my bag?”

It’s a dumb question. So Dean plays dumb right back. “Huh?”

“My bag. Dean-where…?” Sam looks around for it. It’s casual at first, but when he doesn’t find it right off his eyes start to dart around in alarm.

Dean has no idea what he’s watching right now, but it’s funny. “Your lady purse? I dunno Sammy maybe you packed it up along with your makeup and stilettos.”

Sam doesn’t laugh. He starts throwing off comforters and looking under beds. Dean thinks that’s an odd reaction for something that’s only got a few soiled pairs of underwear and a wardrobe Sam hasn’t updated since college. Not even Sam’s laptop. His dorky little brother keeps that in a separate case. But something has got Sam all riled up, and eventually Dean relents because they really _do_ have to go.

“Hey. Einstein. I packed it up already. Once you’re done strip searching the bed you can hand the keys back in, capisce?”

Sam stops his one-sided game of hide-and-seek and drops the pair of towels he was checking under.He shoots Dean a glare, lips drawn tight, the perfect bitch face, and then stomps out of the room. Dean thinks that’s the end of… _whatever that was_. But just as Sam folds himself into the passenger side of their car Dean picks out his brother’s voice over the roar of the engine.

“Don’t touch my stuff again.”

Dean laughs cause he thinks he’s misheard. “What?”

“I mean it,” Sam snaps. “ _Don’t do that again_.”

It’s a joke. Or a challenge. “You mean like this?” Dean says, and slaps his little brother’s canvas jacket with the back of his hand. “Or…like this?” Dean leans back and tugs at Sam’s bag, tucked into the back seat. He pulls at it hard enough that it falls on to the floor, which, whatever, when did Sam start keeping glass slippers in his bag, you know?

“Dude!” Sam grunts, pushing him away, back into the front seat.

Dean laughs again, but this time to cover up how pissed off he is. Sam and him practically exist on top of each other. Why would his little brother start drawing lines in the sand _now_?

Sam takes the bag from the front seat, puts it in his lap and wraps his arms around it like a protective vice. His face is twisted in a way that’s hard for Dean to read and he doesn’t like that.

“It’s Jess,” Sam says quietly and Dean feels like someone suddenly dumped cold water on him. “I have something of hers. A necklace. I um, and you know I just don’t want anything-”

“Yeah,” Dean cuts him off. Sam doesn’t need to say anymore, he gets it. Sam. Jess. Some sort of profound bond you get with a pretty girl when you finally stop running and hey at least Sam got to live the dream even if it didn’t last long.

They peel out of that old motel parking lot traveling on a straight highway while Dean’s thoughts looped around in jug handles and stall at dead ends. Dumb bumbling Dean like a bull in a china shop of his brother’s delicate memories. He really should learn to back off.

And maybe he would have too if Sam hadn’t fucked it all up.

It’s three days later after their case is finished. Poltergeist in a rubber chicken factory, if you can believe it. Dean got to end the day by declaring “Well at least nobody gagged to death,” and Sam couldn’t help but smile. Made Dean feel like a million bucks: best hunt ever.

Of course Sam’s good mood doesn’t last, never does. They’re on some bumpy road in Philly and Sam’s wincing like every pothole is shooting pain straight up his ass. But Dean can take a wild guess at what he’s thinking about.

“So uh, is it like, something you gave her?” Dean plies. He tells himself he’s being a good big brother, therapeutic and all that shit, but really he’s prying. “I dunno for an anniversary or something?”

Sam shifts in his seat and looks at him like he forgot his brother was there. “What?”

“The necklace,” Dean prompts. But nothing. Sam’s face is stuck in a pissy frown that says he has no idea what Dean is trying to say and it makes Dean feel a little crazy. “Jess’s necklace?” he clarifies.

Sam goes completely blank. It’s a split second hesitation but Dean knows that face too well.He’s seen it on fathers' and sons' and single white females when Dean cross-examines them pretending to be whatever occupation-of–the-week.  He knows that face because it means he’s on the right trail. It’s the face of someone who’s been lying. It’s the face of someone trying to recall _their own bullshit,_ and it makes Dean’s stomach flip to see it on his little brother inside the car that’s been a home to them for most of his life and all of Sam’s.

“Yeah well. I mean-no,” Sam stumbles.“It wasn’t like that it was…you know, something she had before.”

Nostrils flare. Dean smells something off. “You don’t seem too sure.”

“I’m sure,” Sam says forcefully and he straightens in his seat.

Five more miles of Midwestern road. Nothing but silence between them from exits 73 to 78.

“So. Where’d she get it then?” Dean finally asks.

This time, Sam’s ready for him. “Her mom.” 

Dean grunts. “Huh.”

Sam turns his head slowly, eyes narrowed like he’s daring Dean to challenge him.

“No, I’m just curious,” Dean continues. “She just _happens_ to give you some sort of heirloom necklace from her mother (very sexy by the way, Sam) and you, what, you _just happen_ to have it on you the day she gets pinned to a ceiling in a fiery inferno? Is that it?”

“Dude!” Sam all but gasps.

He can feel Sam’s disgust beaming from him like radiation and sure Dean recognizes that he’s being a dick right now, a major dick, but something stinks and if Sam is lying to him right now, _about something like that_ …well, Dean feels like he has the right even if he can’t prove it. But, if he decides to keep pushing he knows Sam’s going to withdraw so much he’ll turn inside out. So Dean screws his mouth shut and drives but all he’s thinking about for miles is: what’s really in that bag? 

It’s a question that starts to drive him insane. Suddenly Sam’s got all these privacy issues. He locks the door to the bathroom, he’ll insist on eating alone, and he never, ever, EVER, once fucking lets that bag out of his sight. And Dean knows this because it’s never out of _his_ sight either. He’s hyper aware of its presence like a big fat fucking elephant in the room. Of course Dean acts like he doesn’t care, and Sam acts like he doesn’t care, but for a month straight there’s nothing else on Dean's lizard brain other than _what the fuck could be in that bag_?

And then finally, finally, he catches a break. Just as Dean thought his brother was going to sew the damn thing to his body, Sam gets drunk and forgets to unpack it from the backseat.

Okay so that was mostly his fault, Dean played chicken with his brother and cheated but it’s not the first time he’s played sly on “I bet I can drink more vodka than you" so really it’s Sam’s fault because he fell for the same trick twice.

Anyways, Dean escorts his little brother back to their motel room. Sam falls face-first on the wrong bed, but even in this state he still reaches under the mattress searching for his precious black duffle where he’s been stuffing it for the last 3 jobs. Dean inserts a pillow into Sam’s open palm, and Sam takes the bait hook-line-and sinker. His little brother falls fast asleep with a pillow tucked under his arm, thinking his bag is safe and sound.

Dean realizes this is his chance and sprints back to the car, throws open the door and pulls the offending duffle bag on to his lap. He wriggles his fingers with excitement like a kid opening their first Christmas gift. Where does he look first? He unzips the largest compartment in the middle and pulls out the usual suspects: dirty clothes, socks, underwear, a handgun and a spare clip. No necklace, but nothing else is incriminating either. So Dean moves to the side pockets and finds a toothbrush, deodorant, a comb, a razor. Next pocket three spare cellphones…on and on until everything is emptied out on to the floor and still there’s nothing for his bitch-ass little brother to throw a fit about!

Dean examines the bag one more time, shoving his hand inside and searching for anything he might have missed.And that’s when he feels it, an irregular sort of bump along the bottom lining of the bag. He looks inside and there’s nothing but black polyester. Feels again and there’s that lump, long, and tough, it runs about half the length of the bag. Dean holds up the empty thing and it leans towards one side, weighted down at the bottom by _something_.

He thinks for a second before grabbing a flashlight from the glove compartment and examining the inside again.

It’s a false lining.

Dean sits up and lets this all sink in, how much trouble Sam has gone through, and for what? He frowns, digs into his bag pocket and removes his butterfly knife, exposing the blade. He's about to find out. 

Dean carefully cuts away at the black thread of the lining. He cuts and cuts until there’s enough give for him to pull back the false bottom. And what he finally sees is like a punch to the gut. 

It’s a dildo. Long, black, silicone. It blends in to the dark material of Sam’s bag but Dean’s been around the block enough to spot a fucking dildo when in it’s in front of his face, even in the dark.

Dean’s mind goes completely blank for a full 60 seconds. He has NO idea what to think. At first he feels like he might laugh, grab it like a lightsaber and swing it in Sam’s drunken face until he wakes up and whines and cries because _Deeeaaann_! But then he remembers Sam lied about this. He brought Jess up just to throw him off the trail and that pisses Dean off again. So maybe he’ll take the dildo and beat Sam with it instead.

But he doesn’t do either of those things. Instead Dean sits there and sighs like a deflating tire, trying to figure out why Sam wound him up so much about this. After all, what was the big deal?

Dean looked back down at the dildo.

Okay. There was that. He definitely didn’t expect that. Maybe from…people, you know, but his little brother? And it was kind of big, like, really big. So it wasn't as if Sam was only experimenting or some shit. You had to be pretty experienced to fit something like that up your-Dean pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, deeply regretting the line he had just crossed. Clearly Sam had a reason to keep him away and he should have, just…. _listened_.

Dean shakes his head. Well, no going back now. Now he knows that Sam likes to shove big cocks up his ass. When and where-ugh, those were details Dean didn’t want to think about either. In fact, fuck this, fuck all of it. Dean grabs everything he’s pulled out and tosses it back messily into the bag. No need to pretend like he hadn’t been there. Sam would wake up and known he’d been had, know where Dean had been: the proof was clear as day in the torn lining.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam’s face is ashen when he crawls out of bed that morning, goes to check his bag, sees the hole in the lining and realizes what’s happened. Eyes widening, muscles tightening. Sam panics and Dean’s smirking through it all because he relishes every moment. It’s a thrill for Dean who believes Sam deserves to be shaken up a bit. Watching his brother freak is like riding a rollercoaster: turbulent, a bit jerky, but at the end of it everything’s going to be fine.

He considers drawing the moment out, to savor sweet revenge just a little bit longer. But he’s too eager. He wants Sam to know that the game is over. So Dean leans against the driver’s side door with a shit-eating grin when Sam shuts the back.

“Man you look beat,” he says casually. “Something _crawl up your ass_ and die last night or what?”

Sam freezes. He’s horrified, fists clenched at his sides. He refuses to acknowledge his brother.

But Dean just keeps going.

“I bet it was all that vodka you drank last night, really _opens a guy up_ huh? You were practically _gagging_ on that bottle. But who knew you could _take such a pounding_ , Sammy! You look like you’ve been _fucked all night_ and you’re still raw from-”

Maybe Dean’s a glutton for punishment, or maybe he just gets carried away. Maybe he still has a hard time seeing his little brother as the hardened world-weary hunter that he is. Maybe he has a hard time thinking about Sam doing anything other than missionary style with a nice blonde girl from California. And maybe that’s why it’s easier to make fun of Sam than to think of that thing he saw in the bag. Either way, Dean never sees the fist coming until it smashes into his face.He stumbles back clutching his nose, and losing his balance he falls onto his back with a loud _wump_.

It takes a few moments for Dean to realize what’s happened. He blinks back the stars and sits up slowly, dirty gravel clinging to his jacket and to the bottom of his palm. Pulling his hand away from his face, he sees there’s blood.

“Fuck.”

“ _Are you done_?” Sam challenges, hot and angry.

Dean rubs the blood between his fingers, tacky, wet. His face is throbbing. He’s kind of impressed. “Well, I had this one thing where I told you to buckle in for a long hard ride but uh yeah, feels kind of spoiled now.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Sam accuses. “I tell you not do one thing and you can’t even give me that, can you?”

Dean starts to worry that Sam’s been practicing some kind of hoodoo behind his back because all of a sudden he’s spun this whole thing on its head, and now _he's_ the one feeling guilty. “Whoa, hang on. Don’t you go pinning this on me, Sammy-”

“Sam,” his brother corrects.

Dean figures the kid’s pride is probably hanging from a string right now so he relents.“Sam. Don’t forget that you’re the one who dragged your girlfriend into this to cover your ass. I mean, literally.”

Sam’s eyelids flutter. He lowers his head. “Okay...but maybe I thought that was the only thing you’d respect. Cause clearly me asking for something isn’t enough.”

Dean feels a second blow to his stomach that he wasn’t expecting.

“Just…leave it alone, Dean. Okay? I don’t want to talk about it.” And then Sam extends his hand to help Dean up.

Dean stares at the offer and scoffs. There’s no way he’s going to be adult enough to let this one slide, especially not when it leaves shoves-things-up-his-butt-Sammy looking like a saint.

“You don’t want to talk about it?” Dean says suspiciously. Batting away Sam’s hand, he pushes himself back onto his feet and wipes the blood from his face. “Since when do _you_ not want to hold hands and talk about your feelings?”

“I swear to god Dean, I _will_  punch you in the face twice.”

“Do you really think I care?” Dean finally snaps, and not about the face-punching thing that actually hurt. “I mean, yeah, Sam, is it way more than I wanted to know? Absolutely. But now that I do: so what? I mean…if it makes you happy, I guess. So long as you’re in that passenger seat next me, whatever you’ve gotta do to keep sane, you know? So it’s none of my fucking business. But really? Cause I don’t respect you? Fuck, man. You’re my brother, I’m gonna cross a line or two but there’s nobody I respect more. Nobody.”

Gallant speech over, Sam stands there giving him that puppy-dog look that makes Dean go weak in the knees. Dean’s always hated how his brother can do that to him.

“Don’t look like such a bitch,” Dean warns. “C’mon let’s get some breakfast.”

The thought of food brightens both their spirits. They get in the car together and when they’ve both settled in Sam opens his mouth again.

“Dean-“

“No.” Dean says, cutting Sam off with a wave of his hand. His brother still has those doughy anime eyes and Dean doesn’t trust anything he’s about to say. “Stop it, okay. I just found a fucking dildo in your bag Sammy _;do not get sappy on me_!”

Sam actually smiles and, thank god, doesn’t say anything, just sort of settles in as Dean turns the engine over and they drive to the nearest diner.

~~~~~~~

  
“So, is it a college thing?”

Sam’s eyes widen and he coughs loudly as if Dean didn’t know the diner’s waitress was ten feet away and closing in fast. Under normal circumstances Dean would consider it his family duty to mortally embarrass Sam, but right now Dean just wants someone to feel as uncomfortable as he does. Because Dean told Sam it was all well and good that he shoves things up his ass but, c’mon, it’s not every day you learn something like that about the kid brother you grew up with and practically raised. Now the more Dean thinks about it (which he shouldn’t, but can’t help to) the dizzier it makes him feel.

Dean’s sexual appetites had always been out in the open (let’s do it like they do on the discovery channel). But Sammy? Little Sammy who turned beat red when a girl so much as tossed her hair in his direction. Little Sammy who had to call him and ask how to even talk to girls for the first time? Dean had just assumed his little baby brother was tame.But now Dean was re-examining their whole childhood to see what else he’d missed.

“What can I get you boys?”

Dean looks up at their waitress with one of his winning grins; sweet and sticky like syrup and just as artificial. “Two cups of joe for me and my brother here,” he says. “I’ll have the waffle, pancake, and meat omelet special, preferably just on top of each other. And uh, Sammy here will have-you guys got those pancakes in the shape of that cartoon mouse?”

“Mickey Mouse?” the waitress asks, skeptical.

“Yeah, yeah. He wants some of those.”

“That’s on the kid’s menu,” she says, looking at Sam to see if he’s going to protest any of this. But Sam stares resolutely at his fork and knife still bundled tight in a paper napkin.

“That’s what he wants,” Dean assures. “Kid can’t get enough.”

The waitress relents. She doesn’t get paid enough to deal with the wackadoos that roll into this town. She retreats and Sam gives Dean a look. Another 10 out of 10 on the bitch scale. Wow, they were on a roll today. “How’s your nose?” Sam asks. More as a warning than as a sign of concern.

“Just peachy,” Dean dismisses. “So?”

“So. What?”

“Is it a college thing?”

Sam shakes his head and looks out the window. An SUV pulls into the gas station across the street. A young family with two kids falls out.

“Dean-”

“Okay how about this,” Dean interrupts. “Quid Pro Quo. What do you say, Clarice? You ask me something embarrassing, I ask you about this. Sounds fair to me.”

“I don’t…think this is something I want to talk about before I’m about to have breakfast,” Sam says.

“Fine, I’ll tell you something embarrassing,” Dean insists, already in motion and following the laws of physics. “Once I was with this girl who could not get off unless there was a spanking involved. And I don’t mean on the receiving end either.”

Sam pretends to be bored, stacking those extra jams they give you into a neat little pyramid, but Dean knows he’s listening.

“So there I am with my ass in the air, waiting for this girl to get her freak on, and I’ll tell you what Sammy, she was wicked. You wouldn’t think such tiny hands could hurt so much!”

Dean makes a face, presumably his ass-getting-spanked-face, and Sam laughs. Dean beams. It’s progress. “See?” he says. “Not so bad is it?”

Sam hesitates. He sits for a long minute before he finally decides to play along. ”Yes," he confesses. "The toy was in college. Sophomore year Jess took me to this sex toy party and-”

“Woah, hang on!” Dean exclaims, holding his hands out. “Sex toy party?! What the hell Sammy?”

“It’s…not as exciting as it sounds,” Sam smiles, shy. “There’s a gay couple from San Diego that comes every year. They own a shop and they share some of their most popular items. They mostly just talk about toy safety, compatibility with lube, that sort of thing. It’s about educating people and creating a safe space for questions. No some kind of sex orgy.”

“…oh,” Dean says, disappointed. “Well that was misleading.” He sits back drumming his fingers on the linoleum table. “Okay. Your turn again.”

Their waitress reemerges with two cups of coffee. She places them on the table and confirms their food will be out shortly.Sam wraps his hands around the mug and dwarfs it in size. “Okay….um. Since we’re on the subject have you…ever-” furtive glance to the waitress’s retreating back. “You know?”

“Gone to a sex toy party? Well now I’m never going to bother am I?” Dean huffs.

Sam shakes his head. “No. Used one, I mean...yeah.”

Dean takes a deep breath and sighs. “You know what? Yeah, I have. Now, I’m not proud to say it but when I was 17 we were at one of these motels that you can get the scrambled porn channels on? And I saw Jenna Jameson for the first time.You know, the porn star?”

Sam sputters and laughs, choking a little on his coffee.

“God what a specimen! Blonde hair. Tits out to here. I was totally in love,” Dean confesses. “Like, obsessed. I kept stealing your laptop-”

“I remember that,” Sam chuckles.

“Jenna Jameson porn, non-stop: Up and Cummers, I Love Lesbians, Cybersex, Hell on Heels. You name it I jacked off to it. So after an especially good night of hustling pool I blew everything on one of those fleshlights. You know, the realistic pussies?”

“Yeah I-I know,” Sam says, shoulders shylyhunched together.

“And I mean, for a month Sammy, I did not go anywhere. I did not date anyone. I was just a nerdy creep with a fake pussy. It was insane.”

“Really?” Sam asks. “I don’t remember you having a toy.”

“That’s because I know how to hide shit,” Dean says, pointed. “Plus I signed you up for soccer that year just to get you out of the house, milked it while you were gone.Ruin your childhood yet?” Dean jokes.

Sam shakes his head with a smile. “You know we’ve…never done something like this,” he observes. “Talking about, this stuff.”

“I guess,” Dean shrugs. “I don’t know, I didn’t think you wanted to hear about it. You always looked pissed off when I tried to talk to you!”

“That’s because you wanted to talk about the girls you banged in like high-def detail,” Sam says. “I don’t know. This is…different.”

Their waitress arrives with their food and slides the plates in front of them. Dean digs in with a voracious appetite but Sam’s only got his second bite of Mickey Mouse pancakes when his brother starts asking questions again.

“Okay, my turn,” Dean begins.

“Seriously?”

“C’mon Sammy this is just starting to get interesting!” Dean insists. “Okay so. You bought it at that party? Did Jess know?”

Sam sighs, puts down his fork. “I didn’t get it there,” he explains. “I got the idea there. Jess and I had just started getting serious. Maybe a month later I brought it up, that I wanted to get something big, like that. She was…pretty open, actually.”

Dean nods approvingly. “So uh, you’re turn again, if you want.”

Sam shrugs, pokes at his food. “You don’t have to do this back and forth, Dean. If you want to ask me something, go ahead.”

Dean grunts, non-committal.

“I want you to ask,” Sam insists, a rare offer.

Dean’s chewing slows and stops. Sam’s told him it was okay to do stuff like this before but then it turned it out wasn’t. “No Dean don’t help me with these groceries its fine,” or “No I can I clean all of these dishes I don’t care,” but then it turns out he does care and it’s not fine like Dean was supposed to know that’s not what he meant. Was this one of those times? Dean studies his brother, trying to figure it out but it just gives him a headache so he says fuck it and rolls the dice.

“Things with Jess, they were good?”

“Yeah,” Sam says, honest if not a little sad.

“And um. So. You’d use that thing…with her?”

“Yes.”

“So…how-“

“Strap-on,” Sam answers with ease.

Dean nods seriously, like this a lecture and he’s taking notes. But really he feels like a buffoon. “Yeah. Okay. Alright. Good.”

A little smile tugs at Sam’s lips. “You want to ask if I’m gay, don’t you?”

“No!” Dean protests, a little too loudly. They both check to make sure no one’s looking at them before Dean continues. “No, c’mon Sammy that’s uh. That’s none of my business.”

“I’m not,” Sam says confidently. “What I had with Jess was too real to for it to be that simple. But at the same time…I know what I like. And that’s part of it.”

Dean nods again and stares into the untouched void of coffee. He feels like an idiot and he swears he’s never going to say another word again on the subject.

Sam, thankfully, is a very forgiving little brother. “So whatever happened to that toy of yours?” he asks lightly, genuinely curious.

Dean sinks back into the diner’s faux-leather booth with a sigh, happy to switch subjects. “Well let’s see. Dad came home at the ass crack of dawn with a bullet wound in his arm and a gash across his stomach. He was barking orders and I didn’t even have to listen, I knew what that meant: time to pack up and go. So I did all the usual routines like waking up your sorry ass and getting our shit together. Dad made it seem pretty urgent. We left a lot of stuff behind that night. It wasn’t until we crossed state lines that I realized I’d left Jenna hidden under the floorboards, but I wasn’t about to ask if we could go back and get my pussy, you know?” Dean shrugs. “I dated nothing but blonde girls for like 6 weeks after that. And then I ran out of cheerleaders.”

Dean laughs at his own joke. Sam rolls his eyes. By now they’re both done eating.

“What do you say kiddo, had enough Sex Talk With Sue for one day?”

Sam nods that yes, he has. They pay and get back into the car together when Dean realizes they’re going to have to buckle down on this next case of theirs and for a moment he’s relieved. He feels guilty about not understanding his little brother and he’s tired of thinking about it.

“Thanks, dude.”

Dean turns to Sam who’s folded himself back into the car. He gives Dean a shy smile.

“You’ve been…surprisingly cool about this,” he says. “And uh, I appreciate it.”

Dean only hesitates for a second before he falls back into a role he’s familiar with. “Sam, first of all, I am the King of Cool,” he declares. “And secondly what did I say about chick flick moments, huh?”

Sam rolls his eyes and chuckles. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Alright,” Dean concludes. “Then let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

Dean turns the engine over and everything feels normal again, like how it’s supposed to be. Sam may have found that Dean is an even bigger pervert than he’d ever thought,and Dean may have found out that his little brother likes to ride silicone dicks,but none of that seems to matter. As long as they were together at the end of the day, like this, then everything else was just…details.


	3. Chapter 3

Another couple of weeks pass. Back to back cases: a skinwalker and a haunted school keep them busy.

Working is Dean’s refuge. It’s the thing that keeps him going, keeps him moving. When he moves he doesn’t have to think about Sam, or them, just about what’s next. So when they get done with a case, and there’s not something else for Dean to sink his teeth into, it’s like coming down off an adrenaline high. The reality of a few days where they don’t talk about werewolves and killer curses disappoints him.

But at least he can catch up on his soaps.

Dean lays sprawled out on his twin bed picking through take-out leftovers and watching reruns of some soap opera with vampires and werewolves sleeping around, going back in time, you know tv-nonsense.

“Oh man, Melinda you are gonna be so pissed off when you find out you’re pregnant with your ex-boyfriend’s better-looking twin brother’s baby, ha!” Dean laughs.

He hears the shower click on and the sound of water, glances over at the pale reflection on the bathroom tiles; his own brother taking a shower. He spots Sam’s things spread out on the bed and sees his brother’s black duffle bag wide open. Dean’s chewing slows down to a stop. His stomach knots. He hasn’t had to think about that for over two weeks. He almost forgot about the silicone toy in his brother’s bag. Almost.

Dean looks away and tries to refocus on the television but there’s commercials now. Those creepy Charmin bears dragging toilet paper along their ass and giggling about it. Seriously?

Dean swallows his food. His throat is tight. He looks back at the bag and scans it quickly. Looking for what? He doesn’t let himself think about that. He turns back to the television. Same commercial. Fuck.

Getting out of the bed he wipes his hands on his jeans and goes to the mini fridge. They’re out of beer. He runs his fingers through his hair and sighs. Stands up. Still the same goddamn commercial. How fucking long do they make these things?

Then all of a sudden Dean’s walking towards Sam’s bed before he realizes what he’s doing. Hands shoved into his pockets and looking between the front door and the bathroom like someone might jump out and catch him in the act. He stands by the bed and just sort of…loiters, pretending he’s not looking at the bag, or in the bag, or around the bag, but actually anywhere else: god that wallpaper is ugly, his shoes are all scuffed up, still fucking commercials.

It’s been two weeks since he found the dildo in Sam’s bag. Two weeks. A lot could have happened in two weeks. Sam could have lost it. Or…a monster could have taken it. Or maybe it had just slipped out of the bag. Who could say? One more glance at the bathroom though, the water is still running, and Dean’s hands are out of his pockets. Only one way to check.

Dean’s sense memory takes over. He runs his hands over and under the torn lining that Sam either hasn’t bothered or hasn’t had the time to repair. He searches for that thing, one minute, maybe two, but he doesn’t find it.Empty-handed. The soap opera was back on but Dean ignore it nowand dives back in again. He shuffles around Sam’s things, checks the side pockets. Double, triple checks the bottom and even jiggles it a little to feel the weight of that fucking dildo.

But nothing.

Now the gears in Dean’s head are turning: where the fuck is it?! He goes through everything on Sam’s bed, under it, but nada. Now he needs to know where Sam put the fucking thing and starts jumping to crazy conclusions (is it in the trunk of the car, could a monster actually have taken it?) when suddenly the water turns off.

Dean’s heart jumps into his throat. He quickly assembles Sam’s pile on the bed to a near-perfect facsimile before his intrusion and throws himself back on to the bed. He tries to look cool just as Sam swings the door open and exits the bathroom.

Dean feels himself sweat, and maybe it’s the cloud of steam following his brother, but he’s staring at the television screen with too much concentration.

Sam notices.“Wow,” his brother remarks.“You’re uh…really into that show huh?”

Dean tears his eyes away from the screen, sort of half-glances at Sam in a pair of boxers picking out the clothes he’s going to wear for the night.“What?!This shit? Ha. No!” He says too loudly.

Sam gives him a bemused look but doesn’t press. “Alright then”

Dean keeps glancing between Sam and the bag, waiting for the inevitable accusation. But Sam keeps getting dressed. He doesn’t seem to notice anything off. Dean breathes a mental sigh of relief.

“Hey I noticed we were out of beer,” Sam says. “I was gonna pick some more up, you want anything else while I’m out?”

“Hmm.”Dean thinks about the question as his brother pulls a shirt over his head. Sam is turned towards the television, his body in profile. He raises his arms and pulls the shirt over his head. The skin over Sam’s stomach stretches tight and suddenly Dean spots a bulge like a pressure point pushing out of Sam’s abdomen. Dean’s eyes go wide and in that split second he knows exactly where the dildo is.  
“So did you want anything?” Sam asks innocently, stomach hidden by the thin cotton fabric of his shirt.

Dean starts coughing violently.

“…Dean?”

Swinging his legs over the side of the mattress Dean waves away his brother’s concern, reaching for a water bottle on the dresser drawer next to his bed. He grabs it and drinks heavily, his palms and forehead suddenly flush with sweat.

“You…okay?” Sam asks, genuinely concerned.

Dean sputters again, takes another long drink and then nods. “Yeah,” he rasps, clutching the water bottle like it’s his support line. “Just uh, got something in my throat.” _Or you’ve got something up your ass!_

“Alright…. I uh, I’m gonna go now,” Sam says. “So if you don’t need anything?”

“You’re goung out like that?!” Dean blurts out before he can stop himself.

Sam stands there in a loose-fitting pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and sneakers. His everyday outfit. “Like what?”

“Oh my god,” Dean groans, burying his head in his hands. “Nothing.Yeah, that’s fine, do what you want.”

Sam hesitates for a moment. His brother’s acting strange all of a sudden and he debates whether or not he should say something, but he opts to let Dean be. “Okay cool,” he says, grabbing the car keys. “Don’t wait up.”

The door shuts and Dean’s head drops between his knees. He feels sick.

~~~

Dean’s sitting in a bar around 11 o’clock when he gets a text message from Sam.

_You okay?_

He’s only up the street but has been drinking steadily since Sam left. Dean texts back: _Yeah just needed some air_. Sam says okay and Dean motionsto the bartender that he’s ready for another drink.

He stares at his phone and wonders if he shouldn’t just fucking text something like “I saw it” or “dude wtf”. Sure it’s a dick move, but it’s all Dean can think about despite his desperate attempts at inebriation. Eventually he decides against it, turns his phone off to avoid the temptation and shoves the phone into his back pocket.

Dean feels guilty because he told Sam it was cool. Yeah whatever dude, whatever gets you off. And, abstractly, that holds true. He doesn’t care what other people do but he’s slowly finding out he really, really cares what Sam does.

It’s hard for him to pinpoint the exact problem. It’s not that he thinks it’s sick or disgusting exactly but he just wishes he didn’t know about it. It’s really not necessary for him to imagine his little brother walking around with a big fat dildo inside him, stretching him open and filing him up. It’s not necessary for him to know about Sam sitting in his car, riding a dick while he goes to get beer probably half-hard the whole way as every bump and jolt fucks that thing into him just a little bit more.

Christ.

The bartender replaces his empty glass. Scotch. Dean downs it immediately.

And he can’t just tell Sam to keep that shit to himself. Cause Sam was NOT advertising it, at all. It was Dean who had to stick his nose where it didn’t belong. And why? Cause he thought it would be funny? Jesus he regretted that. And now it was his burden and his burden alone. He couldn’t let his little brother know that he’d run to the first bar trying to wipe the image from his head.

Which by the way was not working.

Dean had sold himself as the fun, careless big brother and if he backed out now Sam would never trust him with anything again. In their line of work that could make you sloppy, and sloppy got you killed.

So Dean sits there motioning for another drink while the picture of Sam and his fucking toy bounce up and down in his head.

~~

2 am. Last call. Dean stumbles out of the bar and back towards their motel room.

He still doesn’t want to go back, not just because he doesn’t want to face Sam but because he is so drunk he literally can’t. Dean fumbles with his keys and finally collapses in to the back seat of the Impala.

He falls asleep wondering if his little brother can come from a dick up his ass and nothing more.

~~~~  
Dean wakes up to the sound of knocking.

There’s two sources. One is his hung-over brain rattling around inside his skull, and the other is Sam rapping on the car window. Dean cracks open his eyes to see his brother looking down at him impatiently. Dean curses, struggles to move, but Sam sees him squirming pathetically and just opens the door himself.

“I got you breakfast,” Sam says curtly. “It’s inside if you want it.”

Dean tries to say something but his tongue is dry and stuck to the roof of his mouth and anyways Sam slams the door shut before he can manage a witty retort. Ever so-slowly Dean peels himself off of the vinyl seats, holding his head in his hands.

He’s not too hung-over to miss that Sam’s super pissed off at him.

Eventually Dean crawls out of the backseat and into the motel room, sinking into the nearest chair. It feels like he’s just climbed Everest. Dean used to go on all-night benders every other day and wake up the next morning with a spring his step. God, was this what it was like getting old?

Sam interrupts his pity fest and slaps a bottle of water and two ibuprofen in front of him. Dean swears he’ll make it up to the kid somehow but for now he swallows both greedily.

“I got you those sticky cinnamon buns you like,” Sam says. “You still want them?”

Dean groans.

“Tough, you’re gonna eat them.” His little brother tosses a brown paper bag into his lap. He’s not gentle about it.

Dean opens up the pastry bag. He’s hit with a familiar smell: delicious, warm, hot, sticky buns. But while it would normally make him salivate, today it sends his stomach into free fall. Dean pushes the bag away and makes a wild hand gesture that Sam’s supposed to interpret as “fuck that”.

His little brother is giving him the full on-bitch face and this time he might have a good reason for it. “Where were you?” Sam interrogates, sitting across from him, mixing in the granola from his gas-station parfait.

“Out,” Dean grunts.

“Drinking,” Sam concludes. “Dude I told you I was going out to get beer. You couldn’t wait 30 minutes?”

“I wanted something a little harder,” Dean dismisses.

Sam rolls his eyes. He reaches into a brown paper bag at his feet and bangs a bottle of Jack Daniels on the table, right next to his water bottle. Dean takes one look at it and his stomach is doing somersaults again.

“Jesus,” he groans. Standing up he stumbles towards the bed in defeat. He wants to crash face-first into the covers but he sees something lying in the middle of his trajectory, a long rectangular box wrapped up in a plastic bag.

From the corner of his eye he sees Sam stand up and reach for it. Out of pure spiteful instinct, Dean swipes it from the sheets before Sam can reach it.

“S’this?” he asks. His head is still fucking pounding, but if his little brother is trying to take something away from him he’s suddenly interested. The same, stupid reaction that forced his discovery of Sam’s dildo. And still he hasn’t learned.

“Nothing,” Sam answers quickly. He reaches for it once more but Dean bats his hand away. Sam relents but he’s still hovering over him awkwardly.

“It’s just, I got you something okay? But you shouldn’t look at it when you’re…like this.”

“Like what?” Dean shoots back. His corpse would still be giving the world the middle finger.

“C'mon, Dean.”

“No, no,” he insists, and holds the box away from Sam, dropping onto his bed with a grunt. “You give someone a gift you can’t just take it back. There’s like, you know, rules.”

“S'not exactly a gift,” Sam says.

But at this point Dean doesn’t even care what it is, the uncomfortable look on Sam’s face is a gift in itself.

“You have to promise not to be weird about it though,” Sam warns.

"I’m not promising shit."

As much fun as he’s having with Sam, Dean’s too dehydrated to draw this out anymore. He cuts to the chase, pulling back the plastic bag. The final reveal is…interesting to say the least. And yeah Sam was right, he’s probably too fucked up for this. Or maybe not fucked up enough.

”…wow.“ Dean says, scanning the word "fleshlight” for the 100th time. There’s some generic cut out of a blonde woman in lingerie and the familiar outline of the toy’s sleeve.

Holy fuck his little brother bought him a sex toy.

“They didn’t have the Jenna one. But I thought she looked kind of close?” Sam shrugs apologetically.

“You bought me her ass,” Dean observes, turning the box over in his hands. “You bought me the ass of some girl who looks like Jenna.” He shakes his head slowly. "Is this some kind of joke to you?” Dean glares up at his brother, and Sam turns whiter than the sheets he’s sprawled out on.

"What? No! Dean it was – I was just trying to-that story you told-” Sam stumbles over whatever he’s going to say next.

There’s a crack in Dean’s mask and he can’t help but smirk. Sam realizes that Dean’s been winding him up and he looks relieved at first, then pissed. Again.

“Fuck you man,” he huffs, of course Dean can tell he doesn’t mean of it.

“I can’t help that you’re such a bitch,” Dean laughs warmly, looking back down at the fleshlight with approval. He doesn’t need help getting laid, but he’s curious about the toy. He has fond memories of being a horny teen fucking into Jenna’s latex pussy. You didn’t have to woo her, or wine and dine her. Jenna was always ready for whatever nasty thing you had in mind, and Dean was never short on ideas.

“I’m not gonna say thanks for buying me the fake asshole Sammy,” he concludes. “But uh…yeah. Alright.”

Sam takes a deep breath and sighs, his shoulders fall back, relief. Jesus he looks like he just got shagged himself. Dean stuffs that thought back as quickly as he can. “Well, I’m going to pass out now,” he declares, dropping the toy next to the floor by his bed and rolling over.

“Yeah,” Sam says fondly, instantly forgiving his brother for leaving him and passing out in the car last night. “You do that.”


	4. Chapter 4

When Dean wakes up again he chugs another bottle of water. Sam is gone. He’s left a note that says he’ll be in the library for a few hours so Dean stretches out, taking advantage of this rare moment of privacy.

He’s starving. The idea of food this time doesn’t make him weak in the knees so Dean sits up and rescues the two (count them: two) sticky buns Sam had bought him earlier (the best little brother). He inhales them and licks the mess from his fingers.

Next he raids their mini fridge and downs a Coke.

Dean belches.

He’s feeling pretty good.

Then he spots the fleshlight box on the floor and he grins lewdly. Hell yes, Dean thinks enthusiastically. Food, soda, and fucking. Sounds like his perfect day.

Leaving the empty Coke bottle on the table, Dean picks up the box and frees the toy from its plastic container. He runs his hand over the life-like skin and gently plies his finger into the small opening. It’s a less generous than the pussy toy he was used to as a kid but that’s supposed to feel better right?

Dean’s about to run the sleeve under water, preparing it the way he used to when he was younger, when he remembers he doesn’t have the casing you’re supposed to put these things in to. Easy fix though. Dean goes back into the fridge and grabs a tall beer can. He sets the toy aside and cracks open the beer.

At first he recoils, his hangover still a close memory. But when Dean thinks about pouring all of it down the drain he steels himself and takes a long draught. On a good day he could down the can in one gulp. Today it takes a few tries, but he finishes it. Belches again. And then removes a Swiss Army knife from his back pocket. Dean flips it open to the can opener and jams it in to the top of the beer can, cleanly removing the lid. He picks up the toy and brings both into the bathroom, cleaning out the can, and then running the toy under warm water for a few minutes. He shakes off the water, and slides the sleeve inside of the can.

Dean admires his work and nods with approval. “Not too shabby,” he concludes.

Then Dean brings his beer/sex-toy back to the bed with him and leans back against the headboard. Unbuckling his jeans, Dean starts to touch himself. Simultaneously he’s fingering the lip of the toy and concludes he’s going to need some lube. It was never a problem getting into Jenna (that slut). But the opening to this toy is smaller and he doesn’t feel like working hard for an orgasm today.

Dean sits up with a grunt, anxious to get off. He digs around his bag for some lube and comes up empty-handed. He groans. Has it actually been that long since he’s been laid? Running his hand through his hair, Dean thinks over his options and very, very slowly, he turns to look at the black duffle bag on Sam’s bed.

The gulp he makes is audible.

Dean turns away, shifting his weight on and off the bed for a solid minute before he finally makes his move, stands up and goes to Sam’s bed. He searches the bag (again). The lube is easy to find. It’s in a small side-pocket and Dean remembers coming across it before in his umpteenth time invading Sam’s space (he's really the worst). It’s good lube too: smooth but thick. Dean can tell it won’t dry up fast like that K-Y jelly shit and then he snickers. You would need this if you were shoving something up your ass!

Dean laughs to himself but it's not as fun to mock your brother when he's not even around. He sighs, pockets the lube, and keeps searching the bag. Just because. This time, thankfully, Dean finds the dildo. He pulls it out of the bag and holds it by the base. He squints at it trying to measure the size, somehow with his eyes. And then Dean spots his toy laying on the bed. Dildo in his hand. Toy on his bed. Dildo. Toy. Dildo. Toy. Yeah he's definitely doing this!

Dean plucks the fake asshole from his bed and slathers Sam’s fake dick full of lube. It’s curiosity, he says to himself, strictly curiosity that makes him place the dildo between his legs and lower the toy Sam bought him, onto the toy Sam stuck inside of himself.

For science.

As he applies pressure, Dean observes the skin around the opening of the fleshlight. It bulges but doesn’t give. There’s some resistance so he lifts the toy up to examine it. Inserting his finger it enters easily, so Dean applies some more lube and tries again. There’s some momentary resistance but on the second try the asshole opens up and swallows the dildo. Dean pushes it all the way inside. He’d shoved the toy into a beer can but it just about fits. He holds it up again, running his finger along the edge where the asshole puckers wide, accommodating Sam’s toy.

Dean whistles, imagining, once more, this thing riding inside his brother. “Gotta hand it to you Sammy, that takes some skill.” Then he laughs. It’s the only way he could handle how fucked up this is.

With his curiosity sated, Dean draws out the toy. He rinses the dildo and sticks it back inside Sam’s bag. He’s practically memorized where the lining lifts up and that thing settles in.

After that’s done, Dean lays back on his bed with a deep sigh. Finally, it’s his turn.

He shifts his pants down over his hips and grabs his dick, massaging himself gently. He’s already half-hard, it doesn’t take long for him to get fully erect. Dean licks his lips and lays his head back onto his pillow. He closes his eyes and tugs at himself, feels himself getting hard and fat in his own hand. Breathing becomes slower, more shallow.

He doesn’t remember seeing his brother masturbate. The thought comes suddenly, he’s not sure from where. But if it’s not been about vampires and werewolves lately then it’s been about Sammy and his toy, so it doesn’t surprise him. Dean touches himself and he wonders if that’s something Sam’s been doing on purpose. Dean’s not the sort of kid to go out of his way for this sort of stuff. If he wants to masturbate, he’s going to tug his dick where and when he wants. It’s only if he’s going crazy with the Jenna toy does that he makes plans to guarantee Sam’s out of the house.

But now that Sam’s secret is out in the open, Dean can take a pretty good guess at what Sam does during his spare time, fingering himself, spreading himself open and sliding a cock inside.

Dean’s eyelids flutter open. He looks at his dick, fat and flush and figures he's ready. He positions the toy over his cock and thinks this is one of those times he’s definitely happy Sam is off being a nerd at the library. Dean sighs and pushes the opening onto the head of his cock. It bulges like it did with the dildo and Dean feels a similar resistance, only this time it's his cock he's trying to shove inside. Dean grunts and sits up to slather more lube onto his cock. He tries again, expecting to push inside easily on the second try as well but the fleshlight still refuses to swallow him up.

Annoyed sigh. Dean rotates on to his side. He grabs the base of his cock and holds it steady, pushing the toy onto himself. The resistance is uncomfortable, he can only push so far and then nothing happens. He rotates once more, ass in the air, supporting the fleshlight with a pillow but the result isn’t any better. Fuck, he’s too big for this toy. Is that even possible? Dean grunts, he’s so hard at this point and desperate for release. He grabs himself and starts to fuck into his hand which doesn’t feel nearly as good.

At least he's bigger than Sam’s dildo, he thinks and Dean likes that idea. Fuck yeah, he’s bigger than that thing! That’s just a fake, and he’s the real deal, too fat and thick to fit into Sam’s tiny little toy. Probably even too big for Sammy.

“Aaahh!” Dean groans, face buried in the sheets.

Sammy thinks he likes big cocks inside of him but he wouldn’t even know what to do with Dean’s dick. It’s so thick and long. Trying to fuck Sam would be like this stupid little toy, it wouldn’t fit no matter how much Sam begged and pleaded. In fact Sam would have to wear that dildo inside of him all day just to prepare for Dean’s cock.

Dean pumps furiously into his own hand, the tip of his cock pressing into the toy he can’t use. Dean shifts the fleshlight so he’s fucking into his hand and then fucking into the asshole without ever entering it. One, two, three thrusts like that and he’s gone, coming hard onto the tiny opening of the fleshlight.

Dean shudders at the force of his orgasm, collapsing on to his side when it’s done. He pulls the pillow out from under his hips and strokes himself until he’s too sensitive. Pupils still dilated, in a haze, he sees his cum painted on the puckered lips of the toy Sam bought for him. Dean sighs and closes his eyes.

“Sorry, Sammy,” he says, though he’s not sure why.

~~~~~~

When Sam gets back Dean’s already ordered them take-out. He’s loose, relaxed. Sam knows that means his brother’s either been drinking or fucking. He mentally flips a coin to bet on which when Dean shoots him a lazy grin.

“Sup, Sammy? Come back to tell me all is well in the world and we can finally book that cruise to the Bahamas?”

Sam snorts, taking in the mess Dean’s created on their table; fast-food wrappers and empty containers that make his fingers itch. “Not exactly,” Sam says. “I think there’s some occult activity we should check out in Nebraska, actually.”

“Ugh,” Dean groans around a mouthful of beef and cheese, a greasy take-out burger tucked in his hands. “If it turns out to be another group of tweens trying to impress their friends I’m gonna punch every one of ‘em in their pimply little faces.”

“You know they have laws against that right?” Sam dumps his backpack on the floor with a knowing smirk. That part of himself that was almost a lawyer still pops up every now and again.

Sam’s about to join his brother for an early dinner but, compulsively, takes a moment to tidy. He gathers up the empty bags and containers, bundles them into his arms and goes to throw them away when he sees the toy he bought for Dean stuffed into an empty beer can in the trash. He stares at it for a few minutes, debating whether or not he should say something. But finally decides it’s simply too bizarre to pretend he saw nothing. “Dean,” he begins tentatively. “Why is the fleshlight I bought you in a beer can?”

His brother’s face freezes mid-chew. Dean glances between Sam and the trashcan. He swallows tightly. It looks painful.

“Well,” Dean begins, staring intensely at his burger instead of his brother. “I had to sort of jimmie-up a case, cause, it didn’t come with one.”

“Oh,” Sam says, feeling his cheeks warm with a too-clear idea of what his brother was doing while he was gone.

“Yeah,” Dean says. Like that’s all there is to it.

“Okay. So…why is it in the trash?”

Dean is more reluctant to surrender that information. He takes another bite out of his burger and shrugs the question away.

“You didn’t like it?”

“I’ll pay you back,” Dean mutters. It’s clearly a topic his brother’s not supposed to tread on.

Sam stares down at the pink asshole peeking up at him from the edges of a blue Coors Light can. He doesn’t know why he cares whether or not his brother liked jacking off into some fake silicone asshole. In fact, he shouldn't car at all. Sam quickly buries the subject, and the toy, shoving as much trash as he can fit into the tiny motel receptacle.

When he sits back down, across from his brother, Sam dejectedly tears off the plastic top of his salad and mimics eating but doesn't actually eat. A packet of salad dressing sits next to him, untouched.

“So, what about Nebraska?” Dean asks casually.

“...what?”

“Nebraska. Occult activity? Wanna share what you found?”

“Oh,” Sam says distantly. “Like you said, just some kids probably.”

Dean watches Sam be moody like there’s an actual fucking rain cloud over his head. Experience tells him asking what the deal is will get him nowhere. Sam will flat out deny that he’s throwing a bitch fit about the stupid toy right now even though that exactly what’s going on. Dean exhales through his nose, debates what’s going to cause him the least amount of pain.

“It didn’t fit, okay?”

Sam blinks, looks up at Dean. “What?”

"What?" Dean mocks, rolls his eyes. “I said it didn’t fit. The toy didn't fit."

Sam has to take a second to re-wire his brain in order to figure out exactly what his brother is saying. And still it’s not making any sense.

“Oh my god,” Dean groans. “My dick. Did not. Fit. In the asshole. Seriously dude; I gotta spell this out for you?”

Sam’s throat and ass simultaneously tighten but his jaw hangs open like someone’s punched him in the gut. He stares so long his brother starts to get self-conscious.

“I got something on my face?” Dean asks, wiping his greasy mouth with the back of his greasy hand.

Sam coughs nervously, lowers his head, hair dangling in his eyes so Dean can’t see the rush of blood to his face. “No. It-it’s nothing.” Sam clears his throat. “Nothing. It’s fine. I’m sorry that it wasn’t. Um. That you’re. Anyways it’s fine.”

Dean sits there quietly observing his little brother. This little light bulb goes off in the back of his head and he starts to smile slowly. A big, fat, Cheshire grin.“Aww. Cute, Sammy! You’re getting all flustered cause brother’s well-hung?”

Sam doesn’t answer, only covers his face.

Dean laughs, his pride tickled. Is it weird to tell your brother you have a big dick? Not any weirder than Sam buying him a sex toy, he guesses. And honestly he’s a little disappointed that it hadn’t worked out. Oh well, brotherly bonding time had passed. Back to business.

“Once you stop thinking about my dick you can tell me more about that shit in Nebraska. Alright?”

Sam nods and eventually he manages to look Dean in the eye without turning red.


	5. Chapter 5

“How big?”

You have to understand that they’re drunk. Really drunk. Like floating in-outer space drunk.

That Nebraska case was a shit-fest. It wasn’t tweens that had caused it, like Dean guessed, but full grown adults summoning ancient spirits to help their _lawn gnome business_. It was a pretty easy case all-in-all. Recite some old chants, burn an ancient book, and plant some fake evidence to get those dumb-asses arrested by the local authorities (on some other business that didn’t involve summoning spirits to posses your competitions lawn gnomes) but it left Dean and Sam with a bad taste in their mouths about the future of humanity that required three bars and countless shots of whiskey to wash out.

At the end of the night they’ve come full circle, back to their little motel room where they start to nurse a bottle of Jack Daniels Sam had bought a week before.

Drunk. Drunk. Drunk.

And that’s when Sam, his little brother Sammy, his pain-in-the-ass baby boy, looks at him with pink cheeks and pink lips and asks. “How big?”

“Wha’?” It’s not that he didn’t hear Sam but Dean’s sensory input is on a 30-second delay and his brain needs the extra time to compute a response.

“ _How big are you_?” Sam repeats.

“Pft. You wanna know how big my dick is?” Dean slurs.

“Maybe. You ever measure?”

The idea is ridiculous to Dean. “Who the fuck measures something like that?” he scoffs.

“It’s actually pretty normal for guys to, you know, compare.” Sam looks down his nose at him like it's so obvious. Doesn’t Dean know what normal kids do? In locker-rooms and when parents aren’t looking? Normal kids with normal, dumb lives?

Dean feels a wave of annoyance. “You want to compare dicks, Sammy?” he sneers. “Maybe we should whip out the cock in your bag and measure _that_!” He laughs like a child making his first dirty joke, but Sam barely reacts.

“Actually. It’s nine inches long, and 3 and a half around,” Sam says smoothly. “I don’t think you want to compare yourself to that, _Dean_.”

Sam smiles. He looks so cool and smug it makes Dean bristle. He remembers his spat with the fleshlight, how he tested it out on Sam’s toy first. It fit. _He didn’t_. So Dean knows for a _fact_ that he’s bigger. But before he can say anything Sam’s jumping to all the wrong conclusions.

“Yeah,” his little brother sighs, “that’s what I thought.”

“Woah, hey!” Dean interjects to suture his pride. “Some shitty piece of plastic you bought at _Freaky Dicks Galore_ isn’t gonna compare to the _real deal_. Here, I’ll fucking prove it to you!” And then Dean’s suddenly wrestling off his right shoe and pulling out the laces before that 30-second delay can tell him this is a bad idea. “You wanna see _big_ Sam, you’ve got another thing coming.  I’ll measure length and then…what’s the other one?”

“…girth,” Sam supplies quietly.

“Yeah, yeah, that. Okay. So I’ll do that and like knot the ends and, you still got that measuring tape somewhere? You can measure it and then you can shut the fuck up!” Dean dumps his right shoe on the floor, plies off his left, and stands with the lace wrapped around his hand, ready to go.

“Wait.”

Sam stops his brother, hand on his stomach. Dean stares at it, feels the warmth of him just above the dick he’s supposed to measure.

“Let’s…make a bet,” Sam suggests casually.

They compete all the time so it’s not a strange suggestion. But the way Sam scans him from head to crotch and then licks his lips triggers a dull throb like a warning in the back of Dean’s skull. It’s telling him something’s wrong. That lizard impulse in his head and in his gut, no matter how inebriated he might be, that says there’s something dangerous akin to drowning about to happen. _You dumb shit_ , it says, _what the fuck are you doing_?! But drunk!Dean doesn’t see the threat. Or if he does he simply elects to ignore it.

“Okay”, he agrees, “a bet.”

Sam nods and starts to draw up a verbal contract. “Alright. How about...if you’re _less than nine_ then I get to drive the car. For a month.”

“Fuck you!” Dean spits without a second thought.

But Sam’s not done outlining the agreement. He continues. “And if you’re _more than nine_ , then…I don't know. I’ll do whatever you want, I guess.”

Dean narrows his eyes. It looks like he’s thinking about the pros and cons of this. But to be honest he’s not thinking at all. “Anything I want?” he parrots.

”Anything you want,” Sam agrees. "Within reason. _And only for an hour_."

But Dean doesn't care if Sam's adding last minute restrictions. To him, this is an easy win. And winning is what matter. “You got yourself a deal then, Sammy.“ Dean tussles his little brother’s hair and walks away grinning, sure he’s already won.

He retreats to the bathroom, unbuckles his pants, and takes himself in his left hand, starts pumping roughly. He grunts, feels himself already getting harder, bigger. After a few minutes looks back down, fat and flushed. _Was this big enough_?

Dean shuts his eyes and pumps himself a few more times. After all, there was his pride on the line, and a bet to win: Sam at his beck and call for a whole hour! He could make the kid do laundry or wash the car. Hell just the thought of him sitting in a corner, quiet, without _pestering_ him, was enough to make Dean come.

But the important part, the _really important part_ , was proving that he was bigger than some stupid piece of silicone. Not that it had anything to do with where Sam put that piece of silicone. Or how many times it had been inside him. Or how many times it had made Sam come without touching himself. It was about the size. Honest-to -God (who was hopefully taking a piss break at the moment and not looking down at them right now) it was just about the size.

Dean growls, jacking himself so hard it hurts. And then finally when he looks down again, he decides he’s ready.

Dean uncoils the lace from his right hand and measures his girth, makes a knot where the measurement ends and then flips the laces over for length. He starts from his dark curly pubes to the engorged tip of his dick and squints. Was this more than nine? He can't tell, but it's big alright. So Dean knots the length and finishes by twining the lace back around his hand. Then he pulls his pants back up and stuffs himself inside. No time to finish, there was a bet to win. 

When Dean exits the bathroom. Sam's sitting patiently with a yellow measuring tape in his lap. Dean hands him the laces and Sam starts to measure the increments Dean has marked, only momentarily distracted by the obvious outline of his brother’s cock in his jeans.

“Four and a half around,” Sam announces with an impressed hum.

Dean’s chest swells. His dick aches.

“And…eight and three-quarters in length.”

Dean blinks. Thirty-second delay. “ _What_?” he says, ripping the lace and the tape from his brother’s hand.

“Eight and a quarter,” Sam repeats with a smug little fucking face. He waits for Dean to check and even though Dean pulls the laces as tight as he can, he can’t make it nine.

“That’s not right,” he accuses despite the facts. He was missing a quarter from Sam’s behemoth elephant dildo dick. _Not acceptable_.

“Well, that was fun,” Sam fake-yawns. Like Dean’s micro-penis is boring to him or something. “Anyways, I hope you like Pearl Jam. I just bought a new tape and I plan on breaking it in.”

“Fuck you,” Dean barks. “I’m just not hard enough, okay? Fucking, alcohol can keep get you from getting hard right? That’s what this is!”

Sam considers this for a moment, staring very pointedly at the taught outline of his brother’s dick under the fabric of his jeans. “It can,” he agrees. “But you…don’t seem to be having a problem with that, Dean.”

“ _You’re not having a problem with that, Dean_ ,” his older brother mocks. Dean’s probably more invested in this than he should be but he knows he’s bigger than that hunk of plastic, _he knows it_!

“Fuck this,” Dean concludes, and falls back on to the bed beside Sam. He’s not going to give up that easily, especially not if his brother plans on torturing him for a whole month with some grunge reject band. So he drops trou, right there, and starts jacking off, desperate. He’s rough with himself. The friction of his dry palm doesn’t feel the greatest, but he refuses to stop. The plan is to keep doing this until he measures at least nine inches or until he dies. Whatever comes first.

“….you’re hurting yourself,” Dean hears his little brother say.

“Shutup.” His eyes are shut. He tries to block out Sam’s presence. This is important work he’s doing and Sam's just gonna have to deal.

“You really don’t have to do this.”

“ _Shutup, Sam_!”

And then suddenly there’s a weight on his chest, his brother’s hand pressing him down. Instinctively Dean tries to sit up. His eyes snap open and he’s grabbing at Sam who's dipping his head forward, and Dean doesn’t have the wherewithal to stop the kid before he wraps his lips _around his big brother’s cock_!

Dean gasps audibly. His mind goes completely numb. He blindly reaches out and grabs a fistful of Sam’s hair like he's trying to pull him up and off, but his brother keeps him pressed down and Dean accomplishes nothing. He's frozen, watching wide-eyed and mute as Sam bobs up and down on his cock, swallows it in one take like a fucking pro. Dean can feel Sam’s lips, his tongue. Can _feel_ it hitting the back of his brother’s throat and it almost makes his eyes roll into the back of his head. The back of his head that's screaming that he _should have seen this coming_ and now that it's happening _why isn't he moving, why is he still hard?_  

“There, that should about do it,” Sam says, finally coming up for air. He’s short on breath, and his lips are swollen and red, but his little brother is as cool as anything when he sits up and reaches for the measuring tape again.

Dean just lies there as the mattress shifts under him. His hand listlessly falls out of his brother’s hair. In shock, he doesn’t move a muscle even as Sam sits back down beside him.

“Here we go,” Sam says gently. He takes Dean in his hand and holds the tape up. “And actually, I think you were doing it wrong. See you measure the base from under you, not over. Which means….wow, Dean. You’re almost nine and a half!”

Dean says nothing. He has no idea what’s going on right now and his brain has gone from a 30 second delay to a complete shutdown. He feels outside of his body, unaware of anything but Sam’s soft, giant hands on him, gently stroking him. He’s so close to coming. It doesn't even matter if he wants to or not. On the edge of everything.

Sam watches him through heavy-lidded eyes and the measuring tape falls silently to the floor. “I’m going to help you finish, okay?” Sam says quietly.

Dean’s mouth opens but nothing comes out. There’s a disconnect between his brain and his dick, between what he wants and what he’s going to say, so he just lies there caught in a torturous limbo. 

“Okay,” Sam repeats, like he can read what’s in the darkest recesses of Dean’s mind with ease. He pushes his hair back behind his ears and leans over again to swallow his brother’s cock.

Dean stares at the ceiling, gripping the sheets, knowing he can blame everything on the alcohol in the morning.


	6. Chapter 6

The rain is coming down in torrents, battering their lonely car as it speeds down I-90 in the middle of the night. The windshield is a sheet of water, pushed back and forth by a pair of useless wipers. They're totally blind, and the sound of rain is deafening. But the accelerator still creeps ever closer to the floorboard.

" _Dean_ ," his little brother grunts. Sam's got one hand clinging to the vinyl seats and the other pressing against the roof. He keeps anxiously glancing between the speedometer and what little they can see of the road.

"What?" Dean challenges, hands like vices gripping the wheel. He’s hunched forward staring into the dark but all he can see are their headlights dancing and shimmering in front of them like reflections on a lake.

"There's a rest stop up ahead," Sam advises. "Pull over there. We should wait until this dies down."

"We're making good time!" Dean retorts.

"But you can't even see where you're _going!_ "

Dean slams on the brakes. There’s no real rhyme or reason to it except that Dean’s fed up, and he’s done, and he wants out.

Two weeks and three states driving, and eating, and hunting but never once did they talk about _that thing_ that happened in their motel room in Nebraska. Dean keeps thinking about Sam’s lips on his cock, swallowing him whole. He keeps thinking about that glassy look in his brother’s eyes when Sam confirmed how _big_ he was. Fuck. It creeps up on him when he’s least expecting it. When they’re standing in line at some fast food joint and Sam brushes against his shoulder. When the water turns on and he knows it’s Sam taking a shower. When Sam is packing his things and his giant hands are on his giant bag with a giant cock on the inside.

But he could probably deal with all of that if it wasn’t for the way Sam acted. As in, Sam hadn’t reacted at all. His little brother who had went down on him, who sucked him off _like a pro,_ just woke up the next morning and went about his normal business like nothing was wrong. And this is _Sam_ he’s talking about. Puppy-dog eyed, lets-hold-hands-and-cry-about-our-feelings _Sam_. Casually suggesting their next hunt like he hadn’t just wrapped those pink little lips around his dick and swallowed his come.

That’s what makes Dean crazy, claustrophobic. Sam In his space. Sam in is head. Nevermind that it’s always been like this. Suddenly it’s too much. So Dean slams on the breaks like he's calling time-out in the middle of a game.

Which, of course, was a stupid idea.

The car screeches, then swerves. Dean turns into the swerve but no use; he can’t even see the road. The car jumps off the pavement and Dean’s heart jumps out of his chest. They fly off the pavement coming to a violent, jerking halt. For a minute their world is silent, just pounding hearts and rapid breathing.

“You okay?” Dean asks.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Sam exhales.

And then Dean’s swinging the door open to check on his car. He winces as the rain beats down on him; he’d forgotten about the weather. Dean shields his eyes and surveys the damage.

They were lucky, it could have been a lot worse but Baby is buried nose-deep in the mud about ten feet from the curb. Deans knows immediately that he’s fucked them over because no amount of pushing is going to get her back out.

“Fuck,” Dean growls, but he can barely hear himself over the rain.

“What’s it look like?” Sam shouts at him, head poking out of the Impala.

“FUUUUUCK!” Dean repeats.

“Okay!” Sam replies, and ducks back into the car.

Dean glowers and pulls his canvas jacket about himself, already soaked through. He doesn't want to climb back into the car with his dildo-in-the-ass little brother but the weather is awful and eventually he's forced to.

"I called a tow truck," Sam informs him, closing his phone. "We're stuck here until then."

“And let some filthy backwater wretch touch my Baby? Fuck that. We should hitchhike,” Dean offers, shutting the door, sealing them inside the car together. “The next town’s only ten miles.”

“In _what cars_?” Sam points out. “There’s no one else on the road besides us. Or _was._ ”

Dean huffs. He feels a chill and pulls his jacket about himself again but it doesn’t help. “I don’t see _you_ offering up any other ideas considering, you know, this was _your_ fault.”

Sam snorts.“Yeah okay, whatever Dean.”Sam looks out the window and tries to ignore his brother. The accusation is too ridiculous to address.

“No, you did. You started this _back in Nebraska_.” Dean insists. The rain is deafening. The air in the car is thick. Dean feels like a balloon that’s about to pop.

Sam’s jaw tightens. He continues to stare out the window resolutely. “Are we really going to do this now?” he asks quietly.

“I don’t know. When's your tow truck coming?” Dean asks.

“…not for a couple of hours.”

“Then yeah, we’re doing this now. _You sucked my cock, Sam_!”

And for first he sees his brother flinch.“Yeah, I guess I did.” He finally says. And the little shit sounds proud about it too.

“ _I guess I did_?” Dean repeats.

Sam shrugs. “I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

“How about ‘sorry for getting you drunk and sucking your dick!’”Dean all but shouts.

But Sam shakes his head. “I wasn’t drunk,” he confesses. “You were. I let you _think_ I was.”

The revelation comes like a slap. Dean stares open-mouthed at his cheating little brother.

“Don’t give me that,” Sam scowls. “You did the same thing to me when you wanted to see what was in my bag. _And I…I wanted to see it_.” Sam’s jaw is set, like he had the right.

“My _cock_?!”

“I couldn’t’ think of anything else,” Sam admits, fidgeting. “Not since you um, told me you couldn’t fit. In the toy. And, well, about the other thing? You were tense and I was…trying to help you out. ” By now, Sam sounds less sure of himself.

“Yeah. Just trying to be a good brother huh?” Dean asks dryly.

“ _You_ crossed the line first,” Sam reminds him. “I know you’ve been in my bag more than once since the first time but why? _What do you even care_?”

“What is this, _revenge dick-sucking_?” Dean growls. “Besides, I was in there because I needed something. Then I just happened to _notice_ …”

Sam waits, shifts in his seat like he’s uncomfortable. “What? _Noticed what_?”

Dean narrows his eyes, doesn’t answer. Suddenly he twists and leans back, lunging for Sam’s black duffle bag. He manages to grab the handle and drag it towards him before Sam realizes what he’s doing.

“ _Dude_!” Sam shouts, and then he’s pushing and pulling at Dean trying to get the thing out of his hands. “ _What is your problem_?!”

Dean clutches the bag to his chest like it’s made out of fucking gold. “Is it in here, Sammy? Tell me if it’s in here!”

Sam has his arms wrapped around Dean trying to wrestle the bag out of his hands and their both sort of jammed in the gap between the front seats. Dean elbows his younger brother and gets enough leverage to kick himself into the back seat. He pulls the bag up to his chest and starts to open it up when Sam scrambles into the back with him, ripping it from his hands.

“Quit it, Dean!”

“S’matter, Sammy? Like you said, nothing I haven’t seen before!”

Dean pushes Sam aside and reaches for the bag again. Sam’s gangly legs block his way. They struggle some more but somehow Dean ends up under his little brother, pushed up against the backseat window. The window is opaque with condensation. Their breath is heavy. Sam is _pissed_.

“Leave it alone,” Sam warns. “You’re being a serious _jerk_ right now!”

“Does that turn you on?” Dean’s grin is slow and easy.

“ _Fuck you_.”

“Nah it’s my dick that turns you on isn’t it Sam? _Big dick_ , even if it’s attached to your _big brother_.” He tries to goad Sam into letting him go, loosens an arm, pinches his brother’s lips and twists.

Sam turns his head but holds tight. He bangs Dean against the window again. Dean’s arm falls away.

“You can’t show me the dick can you Sam?” Dean asks.“ _Cause you're wearing it_.”

The shock on Sam’s face is palpable and it’s the split-second Dean needs to get the upper hand. He pushes himself up, shifts his body weight and wraps an arm around Sam’s neck pulling him into an easy headlock. Sam’s face is buried in the vinyl seats, he pushes at Dean’s chest trying to writhe out of his grasp but Dean’s had years of experience being the annoying older brother and Sam’s _not going anywhere_.

“Show it to me,” Dean pants, Sam twisting violently in his arms. “Show me _baby brother_.”

“Fuck you!” Sam spits. His ass is waving around lewdly as he struggles to get free.

“I won that bet,” Dean reminds him. “So you have to do what I say until the tow truck comes.”

“That’s more than an hour!”

“ _Until the tow truck comes_!” Dean insists.

Sam stops struggling. He still twists his neck now and again to test Dean’s hold but he’s not throwing himself around like he was before. “ _Dean_ ,” Sam complains in a high-pitched whine that lets Dean know he’s about to get what he wants.

“C’mon kiddo, you cross the line and this is what you get,” Dean berates. “ _Show it to me_.”

“........I can’t,” Sam mutters into the vinyl seats, truly pathetic. Dean cherishes it.

“Can’t or _won’t_?”

Sam is silent for a beat. “Can you at least let me go?”

“Nope.”

“Dean!”

“You got me drunk so I would whip out my dick, _Sam_. You _do not_ have the high-ground here. _Hurry up_!”

Sam groans and whines some more but very, very _slowly_ he reaches back and undoes his belt, unzips his pants.

“That’s it,” Dean encourages. Shallow breathes. When did it get so hot in here?

Sam pushes his jeans and his boxers down simultaneously. Slowly he reveals the curve of his ass, where his cheeks split apart. Then Dean sees the familiar wide black base of Sam’s dildo peeking out between skin and fabric.

“Jesus,” Dean breathes. “ _You really…_?”

He checks to make sure his lock on Sam won’t budge and pushes up Sam’s damp shirt and hoodie, exposing more skin. He stares wide-eyed at the silicone cock splitting his brother in two.

“Satisfied?” Sam mutters, and starts to pull his pants back up.

“Hang on,” Dean says. His fingers crawl across Sam’s back. He leans forward and touches the silicone base, sort of pokes at it and recoils like it’s going to reach out and bite him.

“ _What are you doing_?” Sam whines.

“Shutup,” Dean says. His fingers crawl forward again. This time he gingerly touches the base, applying pressure to it and pushing the dildo in as far it will go inside of his brother.

“Hnnnh,” Sam whimpers.

“That’s all up inside there?” Dean wonders. “And you’re just…riding around in my car like this, Sammy?”

“Is there a rule against that or something?” Sam challenges, bare ass wagging in the air.

“Maybe,” Dean suggests casually. He grips the base of the dildo and starts to withdraw it slowly. Sam struggles against the feeling, struggles against him. But then Dean pushes it back inside and Sam stills, grips the seat and his older brother.

“Hnnhh!” Sam groans.

Dean smirks. “You like that? Yeah, I bet you do.” He watches with perverse interest as his little brother’s pink ass contracts and relaxes around the dildo. He draws it out again, almost all the way, until the tip of the head is exposed. This reminds Dean of the toy that Sam bought him. Of the pressure he had to apply sliding this dildo in it in for the first time. Dean licks his lips and pushes the dick back inside Sam.

“Aaaahhh!” Sam groans. His back arches. He starts palming at Dean’s cock, which is already hard.

“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean sighs. His head is fuzzy. The noise of the rain drowns out his thoughts and the heat in the car makes his chest feel heavy. His grip on his brother loosens and Sam slides out of the headlock. But he doesn't try to escape whatever this is. On his knees in the backseat Sam looks up at Dean, silently pleading for something he’s not willing to ask for aloud.

Dean looks down at his brother tenderly, but confused as fuck. “You desperate slut,” he smiles gently. “What happened to crossing lines?”

“I don’t know. Did we ever have them? _Fuck, Dean_.”Sam pants massaging his brother’s fat cock.

“Hmmhhh. Shit. That’s a compelling argument,” Dean groans, head tilted back. “That’s why you’re my geek sidekick huh?”

“Shutup,” Sam growls. He’s had enough teasing. Gambling that his brother won’t punch him in the face for this, Sam unbuckles Dean’s pants, practically rips of the zipper. Dean jumps into action as well, and shifts his pants down his hips, frees his cock. Sam grips it and immediately starts sucking.

“ _Fuuucckk_ ,” Dean groans. His head falls back as his brother bobs up and down.

Dean thinks this is probably his fault. Even if his brother played dirty to get him to drop trou, Dean had been dancing across this line around his brother for a long time. He doubts it started with that stupid dildo but that silicone toy lit a powder keg that led to, ha, well, this. When Dean first found that thing he was mortally embarrassed, which is probably a normal reaction for a brother to have. But now he realizes what bothered him so much wasn't knowing this about Sam, but that he had _not known_ for all this time. Some weird, possessive thing in Dean had _wanted_ to know. Everything. All the dirty details, like the way Sam's mouth stretches over that fake cock, and the way his hair falls into his eyes when he’s sucking it, and the noise the it makes as Sam frantically fucks himself with it. Only now Sam's sucking _his_ cock and not a fake one and okay he's probably a little curious about the noises his little brother will make if he frantically fucks him as well.

“Goddamnit,” Dean growls as his cock hits the back of his brother’s throat again. He blinks back his arousal, focused on the way Sam’s fucking himself. “Don’t you think,” Dean pants, “that dick’s a little _small_ for you Sammy?”

Sam groans and the vibrations make Dean’s hips jerk.

“I think you should you retire your toy,” he suggests.

Sam lifts his head, lips swollen and red. Dean reaches out and wipes some spittle from his lips, drawing Sam up into a kiss. Sam groans in his brother's mouth and straddles Dean's lap. Legs spread, and without anything to hold the toy in, Dean hears the dildo slowly fall out of Sam and hit the floor.

“You don’t need that thing anymore,” he says. “ _I’ll_ be your fat cock plug from now on, Sammy. You can ride _me_ for as long as you can stand it.”

“ _Fuck, Dean_ ,” Sam whimpers. He grinds into his brother as Dean gently fingers his hole, open and gaping from the dildo that had been buried inside of him. Sam holds Dean's face and kisses him, desperate.

"But we're still gonna need lube. From your bag," Dean mutters into the kiss. "Even if you're no vestal virgin."

Sam nods, eyes glassy with want. He slides off his brother's lap and picks up his bag, producing his bottle of lube and a condom. Sam takes the time to shed himself of his jeans before straddling Dean again, handing his brother what he'd salvaged.

Dean deftly unwraps the condom and rolls it over his dick. "Condoms too? Always prepared, huh Sammy?"

"They help keep the toy clean," Sam says innocently, squeezing some lube onto his fingers and applying some to and inside of himself.

Dean chuckles liberally applying lube as well. When he's done he squeezes his brother's hips and asks: "You ready?"

Sam nods, positions Dean's cock against his opening and slowly lowers himself down onto his brother.

Dean inhales sharply. Pressure, like there was with the toy, and Dean worries for a second he won't be able to fuck his brother. But then Sam's ass opens for him, swallowing Dean as eagerly as his mouth had.

"Aaah!" Dean groans, as Sam takes all of him, and quicker than he'd thought. Plenty of girls thought they could handle him without any prep, and that never ended well. But Sammy. His fastidious, geeky, well-prepared Sammy was more than ready for his nine and a half-inch cock. " _Fuck_!"

"Dean!" Sam moans like there's something splitting him in half and -oh wait. "God, you're so fucking big. _Oh my god_!"

Dean gently grinds into his brother, allowing him to adjust. As he does he sees movement in Sam's lower abdomen, a small point of pressure. Dean reaches out to touch Sam's stomach and immediately realizes what it is.

" _Christ_ ," Dean breathes. He presses a palm flat against Sam's stomach and cants his hips, fucking in and out of Sam gently. Simultaneously he feels his cock rutting inside of his little brother. "Oh my god Sammy, _you're pregnant with my dick_."

Sam laughs, breathy. "Shutup and fuck me," he commands.

So Dean wraps his arms around Sam and gives his little brother what he wants: a giant cock, fucking his hole. Sam cries out, and holds on to Dean, tight. Dean fucks his brother, and doesn't hold back. Sam is making the most obscene noises, and they're making the car rock. Sam's holding onto the vinyl seats and his brother at the same time, practically smothering Dean, but Dean doesn't give a fuck as he slams into Sam over and over and over again.

Sam's ass is resilient, it takes the pounding eagerly and Dean about loses his fucking mind. He's never had it this good before. He's afraid he might come too early but when he feels a damp pool of liquid forming on his belly he's knows his little brother came with his own dick in his ass. He doesn't hold back any longer. He flips Sam onto his back and fucks into him like some repressed teenager whose finally figured out sex.

When he finally comes balls-deep in his little brother it feels like heaven and earth moves. Literally. The car lurches forward sending them  both toppling to the floor.

" _What the fuck was that_?" Dean asks, scrambling to right himself as the car slowly lifts itself into the air, ass-first.

Just over the sound of the rain they could hear the beeping of truck, the sound of a winch raising the car.

"Oh my god," Sam gasps. " _It's the tow truck_!"

Dean sees Sam's dildo rolling under his seat, towards the front of the car and he laughs.


End file.
